


36. Sam and Ryan get an unexpected guest

by alley_oops, jennandanica



Series: Citadel: Sam Worthington and Ryan Kwanten [36]
Category: Actor RPF, Australian Actor RPF, Citadel (Journalfen RPG), True Blood RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:54:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alley_oops/pseuds/alley_oops, https://archiveofourown.org/users/jennandanica/pseuds/jennandanica





	36. Sam and Ryan get an unexpected guest

_**Sam, Ryan[](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/profile)[ **kwanten**](http://www.journalfen.net/users/kwanten/) and OC Tom: an unexpected visitor** _   
**players only. current. takes place a few days after[Sam comes home to an unprepped Ryan.](http://www.journalfen.net/users/sam_worthington/5103.html#cutid1)**

By the time Sam pulls up in front of the house, he's so tense it's not even funny. Tom's yammering on beside him, fucking stoked about being here, but all Sam can think is that he needs to warn Ryan. He would have done it earlier but every fucking break he had, there was Tom, in his face or right over his fucking shoulder. And it's not that his mate's not a good guy, or that he doesn't want to see him. But he's one of those who don't know and as long as they've been mates, he's also one of those Sam's not sure he trusts not to sell him out, or at the very least deck him, if he finds out Sam's secret.

Ryan is hard. Itchy. Excited. He hasn't yet gotten over the newness of being there for Sam to come home to each day, and he loves it. So he's stretched out naked on the couch, prepped and ready, waiting. When he hears the car door slam he grins, stretching into what he hopes is an appealing pose. But when he hears the burble of an unfamiliar voice outside, cold panic washes through him in an instant. He's off the couch in a flash and barely makes it into the bedroom, slamming the door just as the front door swings wide open.

"Hey. Ryan? We're home," Sam calls out, hoping to God that Ryan'll pick up on the _we_. Trying to act as a shield and not let Tom see too far into the beach house, despite him being a few inches taller.

"Yeah, okay," Ryan manages to call out, continuing to mutter, "shit, shit, shit!" under his breath as he hops around, dragging on his jeans. He checks himself in the mirror and blanches at how obvious his erection is. Maybe Sam would let him have an emergency wank, just this once? Of course, to get to the bathroom he'd have to leave the bedroom... He pulls open his dresser drawer and hastily yanks on the loosest t-shirt he owns, so that at least he'll be partly covered up. When he opens the door and strolls out, his heart is pounding, but he thinks he's only a little out of breath. The guy bulking up the living room with Sam is a total stranger -- tall, dark, good-looking.

"Hey." Sam gives Ryan his best grin, but his eyes are clearly panicking. "This is Tom. He's one of the old school mates I mentioned? Scott and Dave and those guys? He surprised me by dropping in on set this morning."

"Tom, hey." Ryan gives him a smile and reaches out to shake his hand. "Good to meet you." His eyes dart to Sam only briefly in a _What the fuck???_ glance.

"Good to meet you too," Tom says, shaking Ryan's hand. "Sam said I could crash with you guys for a bit. I hope you don't mind."

Sam gives Ryan another look, this one a little calmer, but not by much. "Tom's taking a break from work to travel for a while but he heard I was working over here and thought he'd drop in and see me."

"That's awesome. The more the merrier, right?" Ryan grins, frantically trying to remember if Tom was on Sam's need-to-know list. He's pretty sure he's on the other list instead, the _can't trust him as far as I can throw him_ list.

"Thanks. I was gonna stay in a hotel," Tom says, grinning back, "but there's some convention thing going on and everything seems to be booked and Sam offered up your couch."

Sam shoves his hands into his front pockets, wishing he could think of a way to get a few seconds alone with Ryan. "Yeah. Well. We were just gonna drop Tom's bag off," he nods to the knapsack sitting beside the couch, "and grab some dinner at that place up the way. Have you eaten yet? Want to come with us?" _Please._ He nods almost imperceptibly, hoping Tom won't pick up on it.

"Yeah, sounds good. Let me just grab my shoes," Ryan answers, his gaze sliding over Sam's. With a fresh lurch of panic he realizes that all of his stuff is, of course, in the master bedroom with Sam's; the guest bedroom has been sitting barren, used only to store their empty suitcases. Somehow he's going to have to magic up a big change to all that, before Tom starts poking around. "Meet you outside?"

"Sure," Sam says, breathing a sigh of relief. He turns, shoving Tom towards the door. "Go on. You can check out the beach and be jealous of us when you have to leave," he says, laughing as Tom shoves him back but goes, thankfully, out the fucking door.

In a flash Ryan runs back to the bedroom, dragging his pillow and a blanket off the bed to throw onto the bare guest bed. He grabs random armfuls of his clothing and dumps them into the empty bureau, thinking that at least any of his clothing remaining behind is likely to be mistaken for Sam's. "Fuck!" he mutters, pulling a bottle of lube from the bedside table, along with a plastic sack containing the infamous plug and cock cage. Into the bathroom, where he quickly straightens up again, snatching up another tube of lubricant from the vanity. He's kind of at a loss for where to hide it all, and ends up just shoving it into the bureau under a pile of shirts. He arrives outside a little breathless and red-faced, but it can't be helped. "Sorry," he offers with a shrug, shoving his trainers on. "Couldn't find my shoes."

"No problem," Sam says. "Tom's just been staring at the fucking ocean anyway." He grins and laughs as his mate punches him in the shoulder. "You can borrow my board, if you want," he tells him, while they're all getting in the car. "And there's a shower to the side of the house."

"Yeah, that would be fucking brilliant," Tom says, tapping Ryan on the shoulder from the back seat. "You surf?"

"Yeah, I've been going out every morning. We get some good swells," Ryan answers, turning in his seat to talk to Tom. Of course, he's got no fucking clue what to _say_. "What have you got planned for your time off?"

"Well, I'm heading to South America first - Chile, Peru, Ecuador - then the States, I think, some Europe, Southeast Asia, maybe India before I come back." Tom grins. "I have a ticket to Santiago in a week and I'm just gonna make it up from there."

"That's amazing," Ryan says, genuinely impressed. He really should do some more traveling someday. "You might never want to come back," he chuckles.

"True, but my work's only given me a year and I promised I'd come back," Tom says. "Plus, I've never really done any travelling before. Might end up coming back with my tail between my legs in a month."

"Yeah, right," Sam says, rolling his eyes. "That sounds like you." He grins over his shoulder. "How long're you staying with us?"

"I thought I'd fly back the night before I leave, if that's okay with you?"

 _Fuck._ A week? A fucking week?! Sam glances at Ryan, but responds with, "Yeah. Of course it is." God knows he's crashed with Tom enough fucking times. But a week of sleeping on his own, of not being able to fuck Ryan, of having to pretend they're nothing but mates... _Fuckfuckfuck._ "As long as it's okay with Ryan."

"Yeah, sure. Sounds good." Sounds like hell, _fuck_. A week without being able to touch Sam, kiss him, a week without Sam's cock in his mouth... Ryan glances away at the road. "You gonna put in some time relaxing?"

"While I'm here? Or while I'm travelling?" Tom asks as they pull into the parking lot.

"While you're here," Ryan clarifies with a smile. "Or are you partying?" He's a little worried what the answer might be.

"That depends on this one here," Tom says with a grin, slapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam pulls into a parking spot and cuts the engine. "Well, I'm working--"

"Never stopped you before," Tom points out, still grinning.

"No, but it's early days with this shoot," Sam says, getting out of the car and waiting for both men on the sidewalk in front of the bar.

Tom nods, rolling his eyes a little. "Okay," he says, hands up in front of him. "But surely you can celebrate tonight, yeah?" One arm slung around Sam's shoulders as they enter.

Ryan lingers behind, not wanting to crowd them. Even if he is a little jealous, because jealousy is a stupid fucking emotion, doubly so in this case. But he doesn't even express casual friendly affection to Sam like this when they're in public, worried that every little thing might be misinterpreted. Tom's freedom makes him ache.

They duck into the bar and head for a booth and Ryan orders a pint straight off, hoping it'll settle him some.

Sam slides in beside Ryan, monkey in the fucking middle between his lover and Tom. He seconds the pint and Tom thirds it and they order a couple baskets of hot wings and fries to share.

"I'll be right back," Tom announces, gesturing in the direction of the toilets, and Sam is so fucking grateful he could almost drop to his knees.

Waiting until he's sure Tom's out of earshot, he leans in towards Ryan, hand touching the seam of his jeans under the table. "I'm so fucking sorry," he says. "I tried to call, text, but he was always right there."

"Yeah, it's fine." Ryan tries to nod and shake his head at the same time. Sam's hand is warm against his thigh, and he wonders fleetingly if this is as much of a touch as he'll be getting for the next week. "I think the house is ready for him." He's pretty neat as a rule; he _thinks_ he didn't leave anything incriminating lying around. "I'm glad to meet him."

"Really?" Sam asks, with a disbelieving look.

Ryan laughs softly. "Yeah, really. I've never met one of your mates before. Why not start with him?"

"Because he means we're sleeping in separate rooms for the next week," Sam complains, half-laughing at himself. "Jesus. Maybe we can hope someone picks him up and takes him home one of these nights."

"I'll introduce him to that cute girl at the farmer's market, the one who's been hitting on me," Ryan suggests. He lays his hand briefly on Sam's knee. "I want you to enjoy his visit, though. I'll figure out some way to get you laid, promise." He grins. "I'm creative." Even though he reflects with a pang that separate bedrooms means he'll be missing a lot more than just sex.

"I know you are," Sam says, leaning in even closer for a second. Just long enough to whisper, "love you," before the waitress comes by with their drinks.

Ryan beams, turning the force of his smile on their waitress. It still gives him a warm gooey feeling inside when Sam says those words, and if he keeps looking at his lover much longer, surely everyone in the bar will be able to read his emotions on his face. "So, really quick: any topics of conversation I should absolutely avoid? I mean, aside from the obvious?"

"I told him we met at a party, drank ourselves stupid and afterwards I crashed at your place," Sam says, mostly out of the corner of his mouth, watching for Tom's return. "I also told him I bought a house as an investment and you were at the end of your lease so I suggested you come crash with me for a while. He thinks you're here _because_ we're fucking party animals."

"Oh shit," Ryan breathes. He can keep up with Tom, he's pretty confident; he just questions the wisdom of doing so. "If I get kissy, be sure to hit me," he mutters, knocking back a swallow of beer. Of course, knowing Ryan, that'll turn him on even more.

"Oh, I will," Sam promises, grinning widely. "So... you think you can show him around? Take him surfing? Keep him busy a couple of the days..."

"Yeah, no problem." Ryan tells himself the nervousness racing through his body will go away, and soon. "We'll be best mates by the time he leaves."

"Thanks," Sam murmurs, giving Ryan's hand a quick squeeze under the table. "And there he is now..." He raises his pint to Tom as he crosses the bar to their booth. "I was just talking to Ryan about showing you around, taking you surfing. He's agreed to be your guide for the next few days if you want one?"

"Yeah. Thanks. That'd be great," Tom says, grabbing his pint and quickly chugging three-quarters of it down in one go. "When'd you get so fucking slow?" he asks Sam, eyeing his beer and nudging him with his shoulder. "It's all those fussy little drinks in Hollywood, isn't it?"

"Those and the tiny salads," Ryan murmurs. He'll forever associate Hollywood cuisine with the day he and Sam met. To oblige Tom, he drinks more of his own beer. "How was the day on set?"

"It was good," Sam says, smiling at Ryan's comment and downing half his pint as well. "What did you think?" he asks Tom, ordering another round as their food arrives.

"It was interesting," Tom says, "although I expected you'd be playing one of the brothers, not some journalist. No action in that, mate."

Sam rolls his eyes. "I'm too old to play one of the brothers," he says with a laugh. "Besides which, the journalist is the meatiest role."

Ryan barely keeps himself from making a comment about Sam's meat, holding himself back just in time with a smothered laugh. "The brothers -- they're probably just window-dressing, right? You've moved past that point."

"Which means you're getting old," Tom says, cackling wildly.

"Asshole," Sam says, punching him in the shoulder.

"Past your prime," Tom teases back, polishing off his first pint and reaching for a wing. "Although I bet if we sent you after one of the girls in here, you'd have no problem. You gonna pick up some ladies for me and Ryan?"

Licking barbeque sauce from his fingertip, Ryan snorts a laugh. "Funny that we haven't tried that yet," he murmurs. For girls or for boys. Either way, Ryan's been too full of Sam to even consider such a thing. "I'm sure he's right." He raises an eyebrow at Sam.

"Ryan can get his own ladies without my help, and you," Sam says, sucking the meat from a chicken wing, "you're on the fucking couch, so if you want to get laid, you'd better be going back to her place 'cause I'm not fucking giving up my room or dealing with some chick doing the walk of shame the next morning."

Ryan grins and flashes the waitress a smile as she brings a round of fresh beers. "No girlfriend, Tom?" Maybe he should be encouraging Tom in this direction; like Sam said earlier, it might get the two of them a night alone together.

"Not one, no," Tom replies, grinning, popping a chip into his mouth. "Couple of ladies I left pining at home, but no one special. You?"

Sam busies himself with eating for a moment, listening to Ryan and Tom, knowing they'll get along well enough for the week, but still concerned about something, some word, some action, on his part or Ryan's, giving them away.

"I'm... between girlfriends at the moment," Ryan answers. "Still haven't found one who makes my heart beat faster, you know?" There. That was almost perfectly truthful. And he doesn't _think_ Sam is going to choke.

Sam wipes his mouth, hiding a smile behind his napkin.

"You're looking for that, are you?" Tom says, already halfway through his second beer. "Not like this one," he murmurs, nudging Sam. "Fucking everything in a skirt."

"Not everything," Sam protests, even though he won't be believed and it's just as well, really.

"Yeah, right." Tom looks to Ryan, obviously expecting him to set the record straight.

"Hey, I'm sure it's a big burden getting hit on by every woman he comes into contact with," Ryan mock protests. "Sexy actresses. Hot publicists. The girl at the petrol station." He laughs, even though of course it's something he's secretly worried about. "He's got a rough road, our Sam. Taking it for all of us."

"I should have known I'd put the two of you together and get picked on," Sam says, rolling his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

Tom laughs and makes like he's playing the world's tiniest violin on his shoulder. "Seriously though? You've been thirty minutes in here and not even so much as looked at a girl."

Sam shrugs. "I'm fucking exhausted," he says. "I'm on set every morning at five and it's... exhausting. Besides which, I don't exactly see anything that rings my bells."

"What about that one?" Tom asks, pointing at a girl at the bar with long blond hair and a very short black skirt. "Looks like she's got a couple of friends with her too."

Shit. Normally, before he met Ryan, Sam would've been all over the opportunity, and it's not like the girl isn't his type but... "Not tonight, Tom," he says firmly, not sure exactly why the thought of them all hooking up with those girls turns his stomach so, but it does.

"Seriously?" Tom leans in. "When the hell did you stop being the life of the party, mate? You didn't use to let work stop you."

"Since they started putting the success of every fucking project I do squarely on my shoulders," Sam retorts, getting right back in Tom's face before relenting with another sigh. "Look. She's all yours. If she's interested, you can bring them over and we'll talk to them, but I'm not taking anyone home tonight and I already told you, if you want to get laid, you go to her place."

Turning his head, Ryan checks out the blonde woman curiously, only to find that she and her friends are checking _them_ out. When his gaze crosses the woman's, she giggles and nudges her friends. "Shit," Ryan mutters under his breath. "I made eye contact. I think they're coming over here." He looks at Tom in friendly challenge. "Ever had a foursome? Maybe they come together."

"I've had a few threesomes, never four," Tom says, clearly up for the challenge as he stands and starts talking to the three women, introducing them to Ryan and Sam, the girls squealing over meeting a real movie star.

They end up with the girls sandwiched into their booth, the blonde - Tina - between Tom and Sam, her brunette friend, Diane, beside Sam and another blonde, Jenna, slightly shorter than Tina, but looking almost like her twin otherwise, between Sam and Ryan. More wings and fries get ordered and a pitcher of beer and another of margaritas are delivered to the table and at some point, Sam pretty much loses the thread of the conversation, the girls taking over.

Diane seems nice enough, but like he said, he's not interested. Sure as hell didn't give up sleeping with Ryan so he can fuck someone else in their bed tonight. Although if he did, that would pretty much put paid to any doubts Tom might have. He looks over at Ryan, wondering how he's doing with Jenna, and wishing they could just fucking go home.

Ryan is reeling. It's been a very long time since he's flirted so heavily with a member of the opposite sex. What's worse is that he's pretty sure he's correctly interpreting 'come get me' signals from Jenna. She was taken with Sam at first, for obvious reasons, but Ryan's stock rose a whole lot when he told her he's a songwriter, an effect he hadn't intended at all. He's pretty sure he'd still come in second, but...

"You boys should all come back to our place and party," Tina announces. "We've hired a great house on the beach for our holiday."

Jenna nudges Ryan and whispers with a mischievous grin, "Skinny-dipping!" He blanches, trying to hold his smile.

"Sounds like fun, but I think I'm gonna have to take a raincheque," Sam says, as if it pains him to admit it. "I have to be on set at five, and it's a long day tomorrow." He smiles at Diane. "Maybe I can get your number though?" Not that he'll ever use it.

"Of course," she says, smiling back and writing it on one of the bar napkins.

"What about you two?" Tina asks, looking between Tom and Ryan. "You don't have to be at work tomorrow, do you?"

"Uh, no," Ryan stammers before he can catch himself. A born liar, he's not. _Fuck fuck fuck!_ he thinks as Jenna puts her hand on his thigh. "It's only Tom's first night in town, though, I don't know if maybe..." Maybe he doesn't know what. He's got no idea how to get himself out of this without Tom sniffing out something strange.

"Don't you have that teleconference with your agent in the morning?" Sam asks, as casually as he can manage, damned if he's going to watch Ryan leave with some woman.

" _Shit_ , you're right," Ryan says, hoping he sounds genuinely regretful. "That's me out." He looks at Tom. "I can give you my housekey, though. For whenever you're ready to come home."

"You can still come, right?" Tina yanks on Tom's sleeve.

"As long as the three of you don't mind there only being the one of me," Tom says, polishing off another glass of beer.

"Of course not," Diane assures him, giving Sam another look, slightly suspicious something more is going on here. But he did ask for her number, which is a good sign. Or at least better than none.

"There you go," Sam says. "And Ryan and I'll join you another time."

Ryan gives Jenna a smile, squeezing her hand briefly as he removes it from his thigh. "It was really good meeting you tonight. All of you." He pulls out his wallet, signalling the waiter. "I've got this."

"You sure?" Sam asks. "I can split it with you," he offers, watching Tom slide from the booth and the girls on his side go with him. "Make sure you get Ryan's key," he tells him.

"I've got it," Ryan assures him, disconnecting his key from its ring and handing it over. He's just so relieved the girls are leaving - with Tom, no less - he wants to hurry up and get out before the moment slips away. "Have fun, you lot."

"Okay, thanks, I'll get it next time," Sam says, putting up with hugs from all the girls and slapping Tom on the back with a, "Hey, have a good time, mate!" His shoulders sagging slightly as he watches the foursome leave, the bar door thudding closed behind them. "Holy shit." He looks at Ryan. "That was a fucking close call. What were you going to do if I didn't come up with that teleconference thing?"

"I have no idea. Go with them, I think," Ryan still looks faintly shell-shocked, and he shrugs sheepishly. "Sorry," he mutters, laying out cash and putting his wallet away. "It's been a long time."

"Obviously," Sam says, but he's grinning. "Fuck." He sighs and nudges his shoulder against Ryan's. "At least we get one night to ourselves now. And maybe we can come up with some excuse for not cashing in on our raincheque."

"All right." Ryan gets to his feet and drags a hand through his hair. He hopes that Tom will be tied up for the night; what straight man could refuse the promise of three beautiful women? "Let's get you home."

Sam nods and heads for the door, holding it open for Ryan. "So, when's the last time you actually..." _Shit._ Every fucking word drying up as he sees Tom standing there by their car, grinning like an idiot. "What happened to the ladies?" he asks when he regains the power of speech.

Tom shrugs. "I told 'em I'd take a raincheque too. That I just got into town and it wasn't fair of me to run off on the two of you."

Ryan stares at Tom in shock. "You turned down three women... for him?"

"I didn't turn them down," Tom says. "I gave them your address and told 'em to come over tomorrow night, seeing as it's the weekend and you both won't have to work." He grins, like he's done them all a _huge_ favour.

 _Oh... fuck._ Ryan feels like his face has drained of all color. "Oh," he manages, unlocking the car. He has to overcome his natural impulse to hold the door open for Sam. Nervously, he peeks at his lover, making his way around the car.

"That's great," Sam says, trying to sound like he means it. "Diane's really hot." A quick glance at Ryan telling him his boy's reeling. He only hopes Tom doesn't notice. "So're Tina and Jenna."

"Yeah." Tom grins, pretending he's grabbing a huge pair of boobs in front of him. "And they're hot to trot. They've all got boyfriends back home but they treat them like shit so they're ripe for the picking." His grin widens. "You got any beer at home?"

"A few," Sam says, getting into the car.

"Okay. I'll be right back."

"Ohhh jesuschristfuck," Ryan mutters, sliding into the passenger's seat. He drops his head back and forces himself to take a deep breath. "He handed out your address. I hope to God they're not the stalking type."

"At least they're on vacation," Sam says, shaking his head. "You realize you're gonna have to stop me from killing him in the next few days?"

"Uh-huh. They're coming over," Ryan murmurs, peeking over his shoulder out the window to see if Tom's coming back yet. "What the hell are we going to do with them if they think they're going to hook up with us?"

"I don't know," Sam says, exhaling loudly and rubbing a hand over his face. "When was the last time you were with a woman? Can you fuck her if you have to?"

"Like... eight years ago, I guess." Ryan stares at Sam in shock. "Yes, I am still capable of fucking a woman. Do you want me to?"

"No, I don't," Sam says. "But I don't think we can get away with both of us not doing it." He shakes his head again, so fucking pissed off they're being put in this position he wants to punch something. "Look. Just... take her into your room and tell her some fucking story about how there's this girl back home and you didn't want to admit it 'cause we'll fucking tease the shit out of you but you don't want to cheat on her. If she's halfway decent, she'll think you're being fucking romantic and pretend to Tom and her friends that she fucked you."

"Okay." Ryan swallows hard, nodding. "Okay." He doesn't even want to think about Sam hooking up with one of those women, but he's already given his permission for it, after all. Not that Sam really needs his permission. "Sorry. I'll stop freaking out, I promise."

Sam reaches across the front seat and takes Ryan's hand, giving it a squeeze. "I love you," he says. "And _I'm_ the one who's sorry. You wouldn't be having to deal with this if it wasn't for me and my fucking career."

Ryan squeezes back. "It's okay. There's a lot I wouldn't be dealing with if it weren't for you," he murmurs, giving his lover a faint smile. "I wouldn't want it that way."

Even the few words make Sam feel better and he gives Ryan's hand one more squeeze before letting go, catching sight in the rearview mirror of his mate and the case of beer he's carrying. "Oh, fuck... it's going to be a long night..."

* * *

Ryan smothers a belch and rubs the back of his hand over his lips. Four beers later, and he's sprawled on one of the living room couches back at the beach house, thinking maybe this situation isn't so bad after all. Except for the fact that he's horny as fuck, and can't climb into Sam's lap right now like he desperately wants to.

They've finished the twelve Tom brought home so Sam cracks open three from their own stash, tucks a bag of roasted peanuts under his arm and hands out the bottles, settling back in the lounger with his beer and his snack. "Want some?" he asks both men, with absolutely no intention of getting back up.

"Yeah. Fuck. Hand 'em over," Tom slurs, motioning for the bag.

"No way. I'm not giving you the whole thing. You'll eat them all," Sam says, picking out a peanut. "Open up."

Snorting a laugh, Ryan watches as the nut goes wide, hitting Tom in the cheek. Then another, Tom gawping like a fish and trying to catch the peanuts as Sam throws them. "Both of you suck at this," he mutters, and yawns. "I'm gonna have to crash soon."

"You can't crash on us," Tom says, pretty damn close to pouting, his eyes already half-closed. He picks up a peanut from the crack in the couch and pops it in his mouth. "We're the three amigos."

Sam laughs, waiting for Ryan's response to _that_.

"Yeah." Ryan shakes his head, a beery grin on his face. "If you let me sleep now, I'll be able to party more tomorrow night," he rationalizes. Then he raises an eyebrow. "Exactly what did you tell those girls, anyway? Just to come over whenever, or what?"

Tom sits back. "I told 'em... _fuck._ I don't remember what I told 'em. I think I just said come over sometime in the afternoon. I said we'd grill something for dinner when Sam got home."

Sam raises an eyebrow. "You told them we'd feed them?" he says, exchanging yet another look with Ryan. "You okay to get some food in?" he asks his lover, watching Tom lay his head down against the back of the couch. Fuck, yes. _Pass out._

"Yeah, I'll handle it," Ryan assures Sam, his eye on Tom. "Might even go classy." He tries to rally his sluggish thoughts into creating a menu, but he's drunk, and tired. And sexually frustrated. It hasn't even been twenty-four hours, but somehow knowing he _can't_ have Sam just makes the hunger that much keener.

"Just make sure you get several cases of beer in, and I don't know, fixings for margaritas or whatever the hell they were drinking," Sam says, popping a handful of peanuts into his mouth, hope starting to grow as Tom begins snoring. "We can't let him sleep like that. You want to grab a few blankets and I'll see if I can get him stretched out?" he asks, setting his beer and the bag of peanuts aside.

"All right." Ryan pushes to his feet. "You don't want something nice? Wine and grilled chicken, lamb, something? We could put candles out on the table on the deck, and a nice cloth," he says over his shoulder, heading down the hall to the master bedroom. "Fuck, I'm gay," he mutters, figuring if Tom were awake he'd probably say just that. This is stressful already.

"Hell no," Sam says, his head spinning as he gets up from the lounger. "Just... steaks or burgers. No wine." The last thing he wants to do is act like this is a real fucking date. "C'mon, asshole," he says to Tom, who keeps on snoring, pushing his friend over on the couch and shoving a pillow under his head, his feet lifted onto the other end. "This is all your fault," he mutters, tempted to whap him over the head with something.

Ryan comes back with a couple blankets and tucks them in around Tom, then pushes the coffee table away just in case Tom rolls off the couch. Then he looks up at Sam. "Come on," he mouths, nodding towards the bedroom, his eyes on his lover's mouth.

"Only for a minute," Sam whispers. They can't take any chance of Tom waking up and finding them in the same fucking bedroom.

"Whatever," Ryan whispers, already turning away. If he's only getting a minute, he'll take every second of it. At the end of the hall he pulls off his shirt and tosses it into the guest bedroom, waiting.

Sam follows, closing the door behind them, Ryan pushed up against it, his mouth on his lover's,hard and hungry, taking full out possession.

Whimpering softly into the kiss, Ryan clutches at Sam. He rubs against his lover, just needing to feel Sam's body on his, every muscle straining. Biting at Sam's lips.

Fuck a minute. Fuck Tom. Fuck everything. Sam tugs Ryan's jeans open, shoving his hand inside and gripping his cock. Stroking hard as he swallows those whimpers, biting back, flesh twisted between his teeth.

Ryan bucks once and scrabbles at Sam's clothing, barely remembering in time not to claw him. He somehow manages to work Sam's fly down and tries to match his lover's movements, but he's too clumsy, can't focus. Distracted and hurtling towards the edge.

It's still enough, pent-up desire overriding everything else - the fog of alcohol, the anger at his mate, the clumsiness, and the not quite there touches. Sam grinds into Ryan's hand, coming hotly as he squeezes the orgasm from his boy with a growled, " _Now._ "

Ryan slams back against the door and bites down hard on his lip, swallowing the shout. His cock pulses in Sam's tight grip and he tastes blood. His head swims and he blindly seeks Sam's mouth.

Sam kisses Ryan. Again and again. Dreading the moment he has to stop. "Fuck, I hate this," he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, determined to never put them in this position again once Tom leaves.

"It'll be okay," Ryan breathes. Even mind-fogged, he knows that the last thing he wants to do is make Sam choose between him and his mates. He reaches out with his clean hand and traces the shape of Sam's lips. "We'll be okay."  



End file.
